


Zukka Hotel AU

by animitz



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Azula's not super evil in this, Fluff, Hotel Sex, I'm not very good at tagging, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Mostly Fluff, Sokka and Zuko don't know each other yet, Sokka is the weapons genius behind the company Ocean Spirit, Strangers to Lovers, Swimming Pools, Zuko doesn't like his dad, a little smut if you hang around til I'm done, and Ozai is CEO of the company Phoenix Corp, and past abuse is referenced as well, but I'll change anything if it's necessary, but Ozai does hurt zuko in this, for general purposes these characters have been aged up, hotel au, like 18/19 but they're living with their parents still while they're doing their studies, no super graphic depiction of the abuse as it occurs, please don't be afraid to let me know if I need to update my archive warnings or tags or anything, they meet at a hotel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:14:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27687445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/animitz/pseuds/animitz
Summary: ~~Person A and Person B are on a trip together but they're staying in separate rooms. Person A knocks on Person B's door in the middle of the night and convinces them to go sneak into the hotel pool with them for a late night swim~~ but make it ZukkaFound this prompt idea fromlove-me-a-good-prompton Tumblr and absolutely had to write it.Otherwise known as the one where Sokka and Zuko meet at a hotel as complete strangers and fall in love by the end of the day.
Relationships: Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 185





	Zukka Hotel AU

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome back to my channel. I know I said I was only going to do the one Zukka fic, but I was having trouble with the characters' motivations in my other fic and my writing prof kept saying that if you get stuck, you should write about your characters in a completely different situation. So I wrote this to help myself understand the characters better, but I figured since I was already doing all the work, I might as well post it in case anyone wants to read it too!

This was a horrible day. Another horrible day to further an exhausting sequence of other long, horrible days. Not that there hadn’t been notably worse days to remember, but today was unusually horrible. At least compared to the last few days at home, which had been sincerely not-horrible. 

For the week leading up to today, Ozai had been in a remarkably good mood. At least by Ozai standards. Life had been bearable. 

Ozai had been withdrawn for the most part. He had assumed a smug demeanor, the kind he wore when he tasted victory, and had presided quietly over his affairs, basking in the certainty of his greatness. 

For years, the Ozai-headed conglomerate, Phoenix Corp., had been in constant financial battle for global control over its particular market: weapons. One by one, Ozai had faced up against his competitors and every time, walked away leaving nothing behind to challenge his sole authority. He absorbed as many small companies as possible and those that refused to join him, he destroyed ruthlessly in court and through blackmail. 

Recently, his target was a small, but long-standing company called Ocean Spirit. From what Zuko knew, this _Ocean Spirit_ was mostly a family run operation. To Zuko’s judgement, the business they conducted was innovative, accessible, and unique. He, though he kept this firmly to himself, actually thought the recent designs of Ocean Spirit weapons had a certain beauty to them. For years now, the weapons had been becoming sleeker, more impressive, more artful. Sometimes, Zuko noticed that his father seemed to be impressed by the weapons, though this was a jealous, hungry sort of admiration, the kind that actually seemed to be uncomfortable for Ozai. 

It wouldn’t matter for long. 

Last week, Ozai had finally received confirmation that Ocean Spirit was facing economic difficulties. Bankruptcy was brought up a few times. 

Naturally, Ozai wasn’t surprised by the news. Ocean Spirit was a formidable adversary to Ozai due to the quality of their products, but they were clear in their political affiliation and had doomed themselves in doing so. While Phoenix Corp. had assigned its loyalty to the Alliance of Nations and publicly supported the war effort (strictly endorsing its necessity for the common good), Ocean Spirit was in support of the Federation for the Free People and was openly supplying weapons to the remaining rebel soldiers who still opposed global unity. 

In recent years, the number of rebel soldiers had begun to dwindle. War still raged in parts of the world, but for the most part, the Alliance of Nations had already won. Most of the world’s population had already accepted this. 

Ocean Spirit had held out for a long time, but as the war stretched on, the Alliance of Nations had grown richer while the rest of the world starved. Ozai had been waiting eagerly for the day that Ocean Spirit finally ran out of funds. 

Zuko thought that Ozai was upset that the Ocean Spirit designs were better than anything he or his hand-selected team could’ve come up with. That’s why Ozai didn’t want to destroy Ocean Spirit, he wanted to absorb it. Strip it of everything that made it powerful and use it against its creators. 

So within a day of Ocean Spirit declaring bankruptcy, Ozai had set up a personal meeting with its CEO, a man Zuko learned was named Arnook, in order to discuss some sort of buyout, which Ozai would promise Arnook’s staff that they would not be fired during. There would be other Ocean Spirit staff members present at the conference, including a few lawyers and a senior official named Hakoda, who would be bringing his son, Sokka. 

Ozai hadn’t liked that Hakoda would be bringing his son, at first. Zuko had been listening outside the door when Ozai received the call early this week. After learning about Sokka, Ozai had fumed in his office for three hours. Zuko stopped listening when he heard the break of glass from inside. Later, though, when Ozai had emerged from his den, he told Zuko, rather roughly, that Zuko was now going to be accompanying his father to meet Ocean Spirit. 

Zuko was made to understand that this wasn’t to be taken lightly. If anything, it was to be considered a test of his value to his father and the company. He was there explicitly to represent his father and any slip-up, any action that would tarnish the shiny reputation of Phoenix Corp. Chief Executive Officer Ozai would cost him dearly. 

Zuko had understood the terms. He knew this wouldn’t be a vacation and that he should expect his father to treat him harshly during the trip, if only to correct his disgraceful behavior. He expected beatings, yellings, and lectures, plenty. 

The rest of the week leading up to the trip had been blissful, though, really. No one had bothered Zuko. His father seemed content to ignore Zuko entirely, opting to eat his meals in study, either in private, or with Azula or close advisors, which Zuko much preferred to the times that Ozai would make the family eat together. The house staff also steered clear of Zuko, scurrying rapidly from the room upon his arrival or blatantly turning around in hallways at his approach, but this was usual for them and Zuko didn’t mind. Even Azula had stayed out of his way for the most part, which had been nice. It wasn’t that he didn’t love his sister or want to spend time with her, it was just that Azula had been sounding a lot like their father lately and Zuko was tired of listening to her repeat the same shit their father spewed about the glory of war or how pathetic Zuko was. It got boring after a while and didn’t suit Zula. 

Zuko had let himself appreciate the dullness of the week and prepared himself as best he could for today, the day of their flight. He’d ran through the day’s itinerary about a thousand times in his head, practicing how he would act and what he would say. He didn’t want to give his father any reason to doubt him. 

But of course, he had miscalculated his sleep. Last night, Zuko had set an alarm for 4 AM, five hours before the flight. He thought this very reasonable. After all, even if it took him an hour to get ready in the morning, since the drive to the airport was less than a half an hour, they would still be at the gate by 6 AM, multiple hours before departure. 

Today, though, at 3:30 in the morning, in his loudest voice, Ozai had told Zuko that he was, “Worthless, putrid, stagnating scum incapable of doing even the smallest thing right,” as he screamed a wake-up call, inches from Zuko’s face. 

As Ozai continued to yell and Zuko tried to blink the sleep out of his eyes, Zuko had found out that Ozai had drafted his own plan (apparently without telling Zuko), but it involved the pair waking at 3 AM and leaving for the airport within the hour. Apparently, Zuko had ruined all of this. He was informed, loudly, of the details of this transgression as his father dragged him out of bed. 

In a sleep-deprived, panic-fueled haze, Zuko had hastily thrown the last things for his carry-on together and hopped in the shower. He’d been in there for three minutes before Ozai was shouting about tardiness and the water waste and Zuko’s inconsideration. So he’d gotten out, forgetting to rinse out the shampoo. 

When they’d left the house, they were only outside long enough to step into the car waiting for them at the curb, but the air was cold enough to freeze Zuko’s soggy hair into sharp spikes. 

The chauffeur had loudly laughed at Zuko’s appearance, which had caused Ozai to send Zuko a frosty glare, and mumbled some joke that Zuko had tuned out. For the entire rest of the drive, the tension radiating from Ozai in the silent car grew, until they approached the airport and Ozai had hissed, “Fix it,” and Zuko pressed shaking hands to his hair, desperately trying to smooth it down. 

When they reached the airport, the driver opened the trunk of the car with a button on the console, but didn’t move from his seat, so Zuko had leapt out of the car to retrieve their luggage. Ozai met him by the trunk and dealt a severe slap to the back of Zuko’s head before the boy could drag even one of the suitcases out. 

When Zuko raised his head, dazed, Ozai had said, in a tone so cold it made Zuko nauseous, “You disgust me. Selfish, stupid, you aren’t capable of even the most basic task of thinking. You want anyone to take you seriously?” Zuko nodded obediently. “Then leave the house looking like my son, not a sloppy waste. You’re uncollected, unprepared, undisciplined.” With each of the last three words, he had rapped the back of Zuko’s skull with his knuckles, drilling the emphasis of the words into Zuko’s brain. 

Ozai hadn’t waited for a response. When he’d finished hitting Zuko, he had groaned and strode away from the car. Zuko had hardened his eyes. He grabbed their luggage and ran after his father, flailing with the complications of running with multiple heavy suitcases in tow. 

His father had been displeased with this too. Once they had boarded the plane, Ozai had gripped Zuko’s wrist so tightly it left a soft bruise, and had told him that he wasn’t allowed to run in public, that it was undignified and that if he ever did it again, Ozai would make him regret it.

The skin under Zuko’s scarred eye had twitched, but he just exhaled through his nose and concentrated on his breathing. He thought as long as he kept his heart rate steady, his hands wouldn’t shake, a notion that was soon disproved. 

His father had been upset by Zuko’s inability to steady himself, saying that Zuko’s nervous shaking was a clear display of weakness, revealed a lack of self-control, and that it drew negative attention. He continued to nag Zuko about his nerves throughout the flight. Eventually, Zuko gripped his fingers around the narrow plane armrests and pressed in as tight as possible to completely stop the shake, but his father just began criticizing his posture, his expression, the sloppy way he had tied one of his shoes, and again, his hair. 

Zuko’s head felt full, heavy, and numb by the time they got off the plane. He shuffled through the motions, grabbing the luggage for his father, walking off the plane, through the airport, and to the taxi cab waiting for them. 

Once they were in the cab, Ozai was strangely quiet, but Zuko fidgeted nervously. Every position that he tried to sit in felt wrong, uncomfortable, awkward. He could feel Ozai’s disapproving stare, knew that all his moving was upsetting his father, but ultimately, couldn’t find a viable position and shifted restlessly through a cycle of different poses the entire drive. 

When they reached the hotel, Ozai had again met Zuko by the trunk to smack him against the back of the head. “Fix your hair, fix your shirt, think about how you want to look, representing me, then you can come inside.”

Zuko had watched Ozai’s back as he walked up the impressive marble stairs and strode through the terrace leading to the hotel. He thought, this was a horrible day. Not as bad as the worst days, but exceptionally horrible nonetheless. He patted his hair down halfheartedly. As if there was anything he could do to be acceptable in his father’s eyes. What difference did it even make, he thought as he straightened his shirt. Even if his hair was perfect, and his shirt was perfect, and his demeanor was perfect, he’d still inevitably ruin something else and earn yet another taste of his father’s unyielding anger. 

He sighed and figured this was the exact state of mind he always ended up in when he was allowed to be around for business matters. He was on-edge, broody, and self-deprecating, the way he felt whenever he let his father reduce him to nerves. 

He dragged the luggage inside and anxiously hoped he’d be barred from dinner tonight. Ozai might think of it as a punishment, but Zuko would be grateful for it. He just wanted to be in the room, alone and un-objectified. The day had already felt too long and he wasn’t ready to meet anyone new until tomorrow. 

As he walked into the lobby, Zuko scanned the surroundings, looking for his father, but also taking in the crowd of assembled people, all waiting for assistance. 

At first, no one stood out particularly and he didn’t see his father. 

So he looked again, with more scrutiny this time. By the vending machine, he didn’t see his father, but he did see something else of interest. 

At first, his brain didn’t quite believe what his eyes were telling it, but eventually, Zuko was sure that right there, less than twenty feet away, was an actual divine being; a teenage boy with a shock of hair and absurdly pretty lips. Lips so nice, the Gods must have gifted them personally. The kid looked exhausted, dressed in a blue cloak that looked more like a blanket than a coat, and such clearly defined bags under his eyes that Zuko could see them from across the room. His hair was messy, too, long and untied, a frizzy halfhearted halo. His expression was stormy and he was banging his fist frantically against the vending machine, pleading with it, pleading with the Gods, to release whatever he had just purchased. Zuko thought he was perfect and watched lovingly as the stranger battled with the machine, eventually giving up with a dramatic shout and a hasty exit as everyone in the room turned, surprised by the outburst, to look. 

Zuko’s eyes met the stranger’s briefly as the other boy walked outside, arms crossed over his chest. Zuko hoped to convey sympathy and directed his stare accordingly. For his effort, the stranger rewarded him with a smile and a frustrated, but well-humored shake of his head. 

Zuko loved falling in love with people he’d never see again or even get the chance to talk to, so he let himself watch the stranger head back outside. He felt the pang of mini-heartbreak at the stranger’s leaving, then laughed at himself and was brought back to real life hearing his name called by his father. 

He pressed his hair down and met his father by the concierge desk. The employees took the luggage from Zuko’s hands, while Ozai introduced Zuko to the men he was surrounded by.

Zuko heard a few names he didn’t recognize and shook hands with the unsmiling men, before he met Hakoda, who actually smiled at him, and Arnook, who didn’t look Zuko in the eyes. Hakoda said, “It’s an honor to meet you, Zuko. I’m glad you’re here. Hopefully, you and my son will get along. Maybe you can keep him out of trouble.”

Zuko bowed politely and agreed to keep Hakoda’s son out of trouble, but this _Sokka_ wasn’t actually present.

Hakoda cleared his throat and said, “He’ll be back any moment.”

Zuko nodded and said, “Of course. Was it a difficult flight?”

Hakoda said good-naturedly, “No, no, not at all. Just long. But it will be worth it.” He smiled, first at Zuko, then at Ozai. Ozai smiled back, then offered Zuko a second of eye contact and a minute nod, the only gesture of approval Zuko ever received from his father. “Ah,” Hakoda exclaimed and waved one arm over his head. “Sokka!” he called and suddenly the vending machine stranger had returned to Zuko’s life, wide eyes and messy hair. Numbly, the stranger pressed his hair down a little, to little result.

Zuko stared at the stranger, at _Sokka_ , mute. The gears of Zuko’s mind were tugging around, rotating forward and backward, spinning too fast for Zuko to latch onto a coherent train of thought. This was _Sokka_? The perfect stranger with the perfect hair fighting with a machine after an early morning flight was _Sokka_? How was Zuko supposed to keep himself together? How was he supposed to hold an actual conversation?

Oh no. This was too much for an already awful day. Zuko couldn’t talk to Sokka (What was he supposed to say? I think I love you?), couldn’t act normal. Certainly couldn’t entertain him or keep him out of trouble. No, Zuko needed to stay far away from the perfect stranger or else he would definitely do something he’d regret. 

But he heard himself saying, “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” 

“This is my son, Zuko,” Ozai said. 

Sokka replied, and Zuko felt his toes go numb at the sound of the voice matching the face, “Hi, Zuko.” Zuko bowed so that he could hide the blush he felt burn his cheeks. He’d had plenty of mindless crushes before. Plenty of faces he fell in love with, memorized, imprinted to his heart. Every time though, they’d walked away before he’d ever gotten to hear their voices. Way before he’d gotten to hear them say his name. 

This was too much. He needed to control himself. It wasn’t like things with Sokka were going to turn into anything. It was just names. Zuko had to straighten himself and he desperately hoped he’d convinced the blush away. 

A glance at his father told him quickly that he was still blushing. Zuko felt a jolt rush through his chest and hastily, he said, “Please excuse my appearance, I’m not at my best. I was underprepared for such an early morning.” He hoped that wasn’t the wrong thing to say. It felt like the wrong thing to say, but he didn’t want to look at Ozai to confirm. 

“Wanna help me find some coffee around here?” Sokka asked. “The stupid vending machines don’t work.”

Zuko felt his heart flutter at the offer to escape the crushing proximity to Ozai. “No problem,” he said, and he hoped it had sounded relaxed. “I’m happy to help. With anything.” He said this to Sokka, but also to Hakoda, Arnook, and their associates. 

Hakoda nodded and said to Sokka, “When you boys find the coffee, bring some back for me, please.”

Arnook said, “Me as well. Thank you, Sokka. We’ll be in Conference Room C. Just to chat a little before we get settled into our rooms.”

“Okay, sure,” Sokka said without enthusiasm and began to walk away. 

Zuko was startled, but assumed that was his cue as well, and followed Sokka through the lobby, deeper into the hotel. “I can smell the stuff,” Sokka said and Zuko mumbled an agreement. “There has to be a cafe here, why else would I be smelling coffee right now. You smell it too, right?”

“Sure do,” Zuko said and cringed hearing his own voice. The words felt sugared and uncharacteristically enthusiastic for Zuko.

“Ever been here before?” Sokka asked and decided to lead them down a corner instead of continuing straight.

“No,” Zuko said and his tone sounded more usual. “I don’t really get out much.”

“Me neither,” Sokka said, but didn’t seem to have a follow up.

After a while of awkward silence and still no cafe to be sighted, Sokka asked, “So, how’s life with the Jerk-EO?” and Zuko couldn’t stifle his automatic laugh enough to hide it from Sokka. 

It hadn’t really been funny, Zuko was laughing more from shock. No one else talked about his father like this around him. So he said, “About what you’d expect,” in response to Sokka’s question. 

Sokka nodded, his expression serious for a moment before excitement erupted again and he abruptly tugged Zuko around another corner. “Does it smell stronger now to you? Or weaker?”

Zuko thought about this for a moment. “Stronger,” he said and Sokka looked pleased. 

They continued down this hallway for a moment before Sokka said, “Yep, it’s definitely stronger now.” He turned them down another corner at the next hallway intersection and they walked a few steps before Zuko stopped suddenly, grabbing Sokka’s sleeve to slow him. 

“Wait,” Zuko said and looked over his shoulder, the opposite direction down the hallway. “I think it’s this way,” he said softly.

Sokka agreed immediately and they turned around, recrossing the hallway intersection and proceeding the other direction into the hotel.

By the next intersection, the smell of coffee was nearly overpowering and Sokka’s grin was overwhelming. 

Zuko led them left at the intersection and suddenly they found the cafe. 

Sokka clapped a hand around Zuko’s shoulder and said excitedly, “You did it! I can’t believe you found it.” Then he pushed Zuko into the cafe.

Zuko was taken aback by the massive wall of syrups at the back of the shop. There had to have been hundreds of syrups, all different colors and different flavors, displayed floor to ceiling behind the cashier’s desk. 

The smell in the shop was powerful but indistinct. Obviously, the smell of coffee was strong, but the fragrances layered over it were unclear.

“This is great,” Sokka said, also surveying the wall of syrup. “So what do you want? Looks like they have everything.”

“I’m not sure,” Zuko said. “What are you getting?”

Sokka eyed the wall for a moment longer before meeting Zuko’s gaze, saying, “Latte. Top contenders for syrup are cinnamon and gingerbread.”

“Why not both? That’s what I want,” Zuko said and tried to give Sokka a smile that looked natural and not overly eager. 

“Smart,” Sokka said and shook his head. He led Zuko to the cashier and ordered two large lattes with cinnamon and gingerbread syrup. After the cashier had noted this, Sokka also asked for two regular coffees, one black with sugar and the other with only milk. Zuko added a small black coffee to the order as an afterthought, wondering if his father might want a drink. 

While the cashier was reading the order back to Sokka, Zuko fished his wallet out of his back pocket and retrieved a Phoenix Corp. corporate credit card. Sokka protested when Zuko passed the card wordlessly to the cashier, but Zuko said, “It’s my father’s,” and Sokka relaxed with a smile. 

They received their drinks in a cardboard carrier. There weren’t any chairs in the cafe, so they stood around outside in the hallway for a moment, cardboard carrier on the ground and cinnamon gingerbread lattes in hand. They both remarked that the flavor combination was good and that the coffee was appropriately strong. 

Zuko found out that Sokka’s flight had been excruciatingly long, involving multiple layovers, a (thankfully fake) bomb threat, and a seriously ill passenger that had been sitting four rows up from Sokka. 

He also learned that Sokka had a sister (who was already texting him, annoyingly, to ask how the hotel was) and that Sokka was very close with his family. 

Zuko didn’t have to reveal anything about himself or his own family in return; Sokka was comfortable talking about anything really, as long as he was being listened to. So Zuko gently steered their conversation away from their families and asked if Sokka minded the trip. 

Sokka surprised Zuko, saying, “I decided the whole thing.”

“What do you mean?”

Sokka’s tone grew hushed, like he was revealing a secret, as he said, “No one’s making any moves here without me.”

Zuko didn’t believe him. 

“Look, Hakoda and Arnook run the thing basically, but guess who’s been designing and manufacturing everything?” Sokka smiled expectantly into Zuko’s disbelief. “It’s me.” 

“Really?” Zuko asked and arched an eyebrow. “You’re the genius behind the weapons that have my father actually worried about something for once?”

Sokka smiled. “You think I’m a genius?”

“Yeah, I think you’re incredible. I’ve never seen anything like the stuff you make, but that’s not the point,” Zuko said, growing more flustered by the word. 

“What’s the point then?”

Zuko tried to think past the fog in his brain. “I don’t know, I guess. Does this mean you’re enjoying the trip?”

“Yep,” Sokka said quickly. “I’m definitely enjoying the trip.”

“Good,” Zuko said. 

“You?”

“What?”

“You’re enjoying the trip?”

“Oh. Why wouldn’t I be? Of course.” Absolutely absurd. This was why Ozai never wanted Zuko to meet anyone important. Zuko obviously was incapable of proper thought. Sokka was looking at Zuko like he wished he had a better conversation partner. “Should we go back?” Zuko asked and looked at his shoes. 

“Yeah, I guess,” Sokka said. 

When they brought the other coffees to Conference Room C, no one in the room looked happy except somehow unsurprisingly, Hakoda. 

Hakoda smiled to see his son and thanked him for the drinks. Arnook did the same towards Sokka, although he was tense enough that frown-lines tugged his forehead even when he flashed a brief smile. 

Zuko kept a smile on his face. Arnook refused to look at him, but when Zuko caught Hakoda’s eyes after he’d been handed his coffee, Hakoda smiled back. 

When the Ocean Spirit heads had both been served their drinks, Hakoda the coffee with milk and Arnook the coffee with sugar, Zuko offered the last cup to his father. Ozai stared at the coffee in Zuko’s outstretched hand for a moment in disbelief. “What is this?” he hissed quietly, so that only Zuko could hear. 

Zuko knew he wasn’t supposed to answer.

“I don’t want this,” Ozai said, tone low but emphatic. Zuko bowed an apology and felt his ears burn. When he raised his head, Sokka was looking at him. 

Zuko gripped the cup of coffee tighter and Sokka jerked his head towards the conference room door, motioning for the two of them to leave.

“He didn’t want it?” Sokka asked when he and Zuko were outside the room, walking aimlessly back down the hall. 

“No,” Zuko said. 

“Who doesn’t accept a cup of coffee?” 

“I don’t know.” Zuko shrugged. “It’s fine.”

“Seriously, though, what’s the guy’s problem? It’s like everyone knows that it’s polite to offer drinks, like tea or coffee. And everyone else knows that it’s polite to accept a drink, even if it’s just water. But outright refusing a drink is just rude.”

“So?” Zuko asked and he realized how harsh the word had sounded. “What’s the big deal?” he asked, softer, and felt his cheeks grow hot. 

“Sorry,” Sokka said immediately, then added, “I just thought it was nice of you to think of him even though he didn’t ask. All he had to do was take the stupid coffee. He didn’t have to be rude about it. He’s the one that made it a big deal, not me.”

“What’s with all the hate for my father?” Zuko asked. 

“Can’t say I’m a fan of his,” Sokka said and released a dry chuckle. “He’s a monster in business and I think it’s safe to assume he’s a monster in his personal life too.”

Zuko didn’t have anything to say because Sokka was right; though he couldn’t admit that out loud any more than he could deny it. 

“Come on,” Sokka said, sensing Zuko’s discomfort, “Let’s go see what’s cool in this hotel.”

They went outside of the hotel first and walked around its perimeter for a while. They found a surprisingly well-heated outdoor pool on one side of the hotel (the sign said it closed every night at 10PM and that no lifeguard was on duty) and an unkempt patio seating area littered with flyers and with chairs, more upside down than right side up, on the other side of the hotel. Neither Sokka or Zuko had a guess of the purpose of this neglected area. Sokka thought it was for people to sit and chat after they’d swam or gotten drinks from inside, but Zuko pointed out that they weren’t near the pool or the cafe, and they had just agreed the seating area was absurd. 

Zuko had been drinking the coffee he had ordered for Ozai while they walked and finished it as they paused by the overturned chairs. He remarked how useless it was to make a seating area with no trash cans as they walked away.

Sokka agreed and Zuko clutched the empty cup until they walked back inside the hotel and he threw it away in the first trash bin. 

Sokka had a methodical plan for their exploration. He had them take the elevators to the top floor so that they could see every floor of the hotel from the top down. It hadn’t mattered when Zuko said that he was afraid of elevators. Sokka had just said, “Hold my hand then, stop being a baby,” as they stepped into the elevator. He had blushed when Zuko grabbed hold of his hand automatically. 

Zuko hadn’t dropped it, though, because he hadn’t been lying. Actually. He was afraid of elevators. He wasn’t really sure what he was afraid of; he fervently avoided watching scenes with elevators or reading about their statistical stability, mostly because he knew that whatever he learned would just fuel his fear. 

Every time he had ever gotten into an elevator, his stomach immediately dropped to his feet and his heart began to spasm a rapid pulse. Apparently this time was no different. 

Zuko didn’t want to let go of Sokka’s hand because he could feel his heartbeat in his fingers pressing around the back of Sokka’s hand and it was something to focus on other than the breathtaking rate of their ascension through the hotel. 

It only took a moment and Sokka’s fingers were curling tighter around Zuko’s. 

Zuko kept his eyes sternly at the little electronic display above the buttons, which indicated their current floor. As they approached the 12th floor (really it only took a few seconds, the elevator was seriously fast), Zuko moved towards the door, dragging Sokka behind him. When the doors finally opened, Zuko rushed out as soon as he could fit his body through the opening, Sokka in tow. 

When they were again on solid floor, Zuko felt dizzy, like the hallway was actually a boat swaying on the open ocean. He gripped Sokka’s hand tighter for a second as he squeezed his eyes shut to manage the nausea, then realized what he was doing and dropped Sokka’s hand like it had burned him. His eyes sprung open. 

“Hey, I’m sorry. I promise no more elevators,” Sokka said, apparently fazed by something other than Zuko’s awkwardness. 

Zuko blinked, then remembered to nod. Then remembered to say something. “So twelfth floor, huh?”

“Yeah, I’m sorry, floor twelve. Should be basically boring. But we’ll never know for sure unless we check. Should we keep walking? There’s stairs somewhere, I’m sorry.” He paused uncomfortably. “Maybe we’ll actually see something interesting on the way.”

So they walked more. There wasn’t anything interesting on the twelfth floor, just a tunnel of indistinguishable and poorly lit brown doors against red walls, and the stairwell turned out to be a rather ominous place, lit by dim fluorescents and finished with concrete. The eleventh floor was boring too, as were the tenth and ninth. On the eighth floor they passed a room that had a room service tray outside the door, littered with wrappers and leftover food. Zuko commented that it looked like whoever had ordered this must have been unsatisfied with the meal and eaten something from the vending machine instead. Sokka had replied, “Isn’t that what everyone does at hotels?” and Zuko hadn’t known what to say. 

On the seventh floor, Sokka brought up his ex-girlfriend and emphasized quite strongly that the breakup had been mutual but abrupt and very final. Zuko wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say, so he said, “That’s rough, buddy,” and immediately regretted being born. 

Sokka had just laughed but didn’t have anything to say until they reached the fifth floor (sixth floor was boring, except for a purple stain on the carpet in front of the stairwell), when he said, “So, you must have someone, right?”

“What?”

“Like a girlfriend. Or something.”

“Oh,” Zuko coughed. “No. Nothing like that.”

“Oh,” Sokka said. “No? Why not?”

“What?”

Sokka licked his lips and seemed generally uncomfortable. Zuko wished they were talking about anything other than his love life. “I just mean, a guy like you, must have someone he’s close to, right? Or if not, someone he’s interested in, right?”

Zuko’s ears were burning. “Not really.”

“Gotcha,” Sokka said, sounding a little embarrassed, and dropped the line of questioning. 

On the fourth floor, Zuko noticed a plant sitting under one of the hallway windows and pointed it out to Sokka. Sokka had responded by immediately naming the plant’s latin title and Zuko had smiled. “Plant guy?” he asked. 

Sokka puffed his chest. “Please, for me, it’s all about meat.” Something in him twitched as the words left his mouth and he coughed. “I like meat more than plants, I mean. I just know their names cause my sister and her little boyfriend are way too into it.”

“That’s cool,” Zuko said to diffuse some of the tension that had just settled in. 

“Pretty cool,” Sokka said and they walked past the plant. 

At the end of the hallway, by the window closest to the stairwell, there was another plant. Zuko pointed at it, a subtle movement, but Sokka noticed. “Epipremnum aureum.”

Zuko almost laughed. Instead, he said, “Wow and how do you spell it?”

Sokka started to spell it and Zuko actually laughed. “You’re good,” Zuko said. 

On the third floor, there were even more plants. Zuko expected at least one of them to stump Sokka, but Sokka just recited their latin names on cue and seemed happy when Zuko pointed out each plant. At what felt like the hundredth plant, Sokka recited a name that sounded particularly absurd to Zuko. “Come on,” Zuko said. “How do I know you’re not just making these up?”

Sokka puffed his chest again and repeated the name. “Look it up, if you don’t believe me,” and gestured with his hand, like Zuko should pull up a search engine. 

“I don’t have my phone,” Zuko had to say, “My father has it.” Ozai always had his phone. Except for certain times. But Ozai didn’t want Zuko to be unmonitored and always checked the text messages and search history after Zuko had used the device. 

“Oh,” Sokka said. “Stupid Ozai, huh?”

“Yeah,” Zuko mumbled. “It doesn’t matter. I believe you. About the plant names and everything. You seem like you know what you’re talking about.”

“No you were totally right,” Sokka said. “I made up at least three of those names back there. I really thought you’d catch me with ‘Fabaceae magna’. Why are you looking at me like that? Fabaceae is a family of legumes. I basically just called a plant back there a big bean and you didn’t even notice.”

Zuko was entertained. “How could I have known that?”

Sokka was blushing a little, Zuko realized and wondered what that was about. 

They reached the end of the hall and continued down the stairs. Zuko felt like he was buzzing. He told himself it was just the coffee. 

When they opened the door to the stairwell and stepped out into the second floor hallway, Zuko spotted his father, ducking into room 211. 

Ozai spotted him too. “Where have you been?” he shouted tensely, voice loud enough to hear across the hallway.

Zuko automatically headed down the hallway towards his father. “I’ve been with Sokka,” he said loudly so Ozai would hear. It came out a little too loud. “Keeping him out of trouble,” he added. “Like Hakoda asked.”

Ozai acknowledged Sokka, who had trailed behind Zuko, with a tight lipped smile, then said to Zuko, “I’ve been looking for you.”

Zuko found that hard to believe, but he said, “I’m sorry,” and all too soon, he was next to his father, close enough to feel the quiet anger rising from Ozai. 

“Do you mind if I take him from you?” Ozai said to Sokka, but it was just a formality. 

“No,” Sokka said, but it sounded like a formality as well. “See you later?” he asked Zuko. 

Zuko smiled and agreed with a nod, but quickly ducked his head under the ensuing glare from his father. 

Sokka was reluctant to leave, but eventually, though really it was much too soon, he left and Zuko watched his feet as he walked to the elevator. 

“What’s wrong with you?” Ozai asked Zuko, pushing him into the room with a slap to the back of the head. Zuko slipped his shoes off as he crossed the threshold as an instinct, a muscle memory drilled into him over the years by his father. 

Blinking wearily, and resisting the urge to rub the back of his head, Zuko took in the single bed and the small couch, the only soft furniture in the room, and said, “I’m sorry. I thought you wanted me to keep them happy.” He turned to face Ozai. 

Ozai sighed deeply and his forehead crumpled in frustration. “That doesn’t mean disappearing for over an hour. You should have been waiting when we finished.”

“Sokka wanted to-”

“I don’t care what Sokka wanted,” Ozai said and Zuko knew the matter was settled.

“I will do better,” Zuko said and bowed. “I’m sorry.” His father didn’t say anything immediately so Zuko factored what seemed like actually a pretty good mood for Ozai with the uncertainty of their trip, and eventually took a risk on asking about business, saying, “How was the talk?”

“It was good,” Ozai said and Zuko was immediately relieved. His father didn’t say something was good unless he was actually thrilled.

“So they’re going to sell?”

“They liked my offer,” Ozai said, a little cryptically. 

“I’m glad to hear it,” Zuko said and his eyes settled on the room’s kitchenette, which somehow, included a microwave. On the counter below the appliance was a pair of white mugs and a little box of individual tea bags. Zuko rushed forward to make his father some tea. 

As he microwaved some water in one of the mugs, Zuko selected one of four Earl Gray bags. His father eventually took off his shoes and went to sit on the bed at Zuko’s back. Zuko heard Ozai sigh again and, figuring this was the kind of mood in which Ozai would appreciate a strong tea, Zuko decided to select a second bag of Earl Gray. 

The microwave dinged, startling them both, and Zuko jumped to collect the water. His fingers shook as he tore the tea bags open, holding them together to do it at once. 

Ozai was silent as Zuko waited for the tea to steep and tension settled over the room. Zuko threw the teabags away. 

His skin crawled as he offered the tea to his father with a bow. 

Ozai took a sip and said, “Acceptable,” and waved his hand to dismiss Zuko. He took another, deeper sip, then gestured again at Zuko, who was shuffling around rather awkwardly, trying to find a spot to himself. “Don’t you have studies to catch up on? Your sister will be ahead of you if you don’t study what you missed today.”

Zuko was struggling to keep up with the rate of his sister’s schooling and Ozai knew this. Hated this. Had often remarked how disgraceful it was that his firstborn, his only son, had only half a brain. 

Still, Zuko despised his studies and even more, his instructors. All he wanted to do right now was sleep, but he nodded his head and dragged his feet to his carry-on bag, where the staff had dropped it off. 

As he listened to Ozai drink, he dragged a few binders and a thousand page textbook from the backpack. 

Ozai thought public school was for the publicly poor and that private school was for brainwashed children, so he had opted instead for home-schooling via a nearly around the clock rotating staff of relentless tutors. The workload was unbearable for Zuko and boring for Azula.

Zuko opened the textbook and tried to read, focusing on words that seemed to change as he glared. Secretly, he thought he was dyslexic, but when he’d asked his father, Ozai had told him dyslexia wasn’t real and the conversation was over. 

The sun set around them, Zuko at the couch, back arched over the twenty pound book, watering eyes scouring and re-scouring the page, while Ozai sat on the bed against the headboard, reading through a stack of documents, marking them occasionally. 

At the peak of the sunset, Ozai set his stack of papers on the nightstand by the bed and walked over to Zuko to inspect his work. 

Zuko’s assigned reading for the day had a thorough quiz to complete along with it, but Zuko hadn’t even started it yet. Ozai noted this with a harsh click of his tongue. But didn’t say anything. Instead, Ozai crossed the room and collected a fresh outfit from his suitcase. He went into the bathroom to change and when he came out, said, “Finish your work. Hopefully you’ll finish in time to join us for dinner. I’m sure Sokka will be glad to see you.”

Zuko thought they both knew he wasn’t going to finish the work in time to join everyone for dinner, but he nodded numbly and continued to stare at the page, though his concentration had long been broken. 

The words were just slipping off the page and it took him a long time to stop thinking about Sokka. 

Zuko had barely finished reading another page by the time his father came back from dinner. Ozai had said, “Typical,” and changed into his pajamas.

When Zuko finally finished everything, Ozai was firmly asleep and the night was dark around them.

Zuko’s eyes burned and his mouth was extremely dry. He stood, for the first time in hours, and went unsteadily, but quietly, to make himself a cup of tea. As he microwaved the water, he selected the only herbal tea bag in the selection, cinnamon apple, and noticed that Ozai had left both of their phones on the counter for the night. 

Zuko grabbed his cellphone and clicked the screen awake. The display informed him that it was 3:18 in the morning. He held onto the device for a moment, staring at the blank notification wall, before the phone vibrated suddenly, lighting up with a sudden call from Azula. 

Zuko jumped a little, then smiled half heartedly at the phone as he let it ring for a moment. He collected the water, stopping the microwave before it finished, and placed the tea bag, thinking about the one weakness Azula seemed to have. She was always so proud, so cruel to Zuko, when Ozai was around to praise her. But apparently, Ozai’s favor was easier earned than his love and Azula could only be satisfied with Ozai’s casual remarks about her talent for as long as Ozai was around to constantly supply them. 

Whenever Ozai was gone, Azula immediately clung to Zuko, the ever-present reminder of Ozai’s volatility. Azula wanted Zuko for comfort, for the reassurance that she could be okay without Ozai. 

Zuko answered the phone in a barely audible tone and watched the cinnamon tea steep. “Zula, it’s late.”

“Then why did you answer?” was her cold, but loud reply. Zuko pressed the volume button on his phone down. “It’s early here. Father hasn’t told me anything, yet. He didn’t talk to me yesterday. Is he mad at me? Is he mad at you? Did you land safe? Did you make it to the hotel? Is it nice?” She sounded like she was all nerves right now. 

Zuko sighed and glanced over at the sleeping form of their father. In the same cautious whisper, he said to the phone, “It’s all fine Zula. We landed safe. We’re at the hotel. It’s pretty nice. He’s not mad at you.”

“Is he mad at you? What did you do all day? Did he say anything about me?”

Zuko sighed again and took the teabag out of the tea to toss it into the trash. Mug in hand, Zuko walked into the bathroom as he said to Azula, “No, it’s all usual. We haven’t really talked much today either.”

He drank the tea as Azula asked, “What did you do all day then?”

“Studied mostly,” he said and his voice was still as quiet as it had been in the main room. “After I met everyone.”

“Oh?” she said and it sounded cruel. “You met everyone? What were they like?”

“I don’t know,” Zuko said. “Normal, I guess. Pretty nice. One of the executive officers brought his son, Sokka. We walked around the hotel together and got coffee.”

“You went on a date today?”

“What?” Zuko choked on his tea, but he couldn’t cough because his father would wake up; he had to choke it out into the sink. His eyes felt scratchy. “No. I didn’t go on a date today. No. Gods. What are you talking about?”

Azula sighed and the sound was distorted slightly over the phone. “Well, what did you talk about while you drank your coffee and walked together?”

Zuko had to set the half-empty mug down on the bathroom floor, which he had sunk to, knees folded to his chest. “I don’t know. Random things. He talked for a really long time about his ex.”

“His ex?”

“She broke up with him because of a political marriage she couldn’t abandon. Or didn’t want to abandon. He was kind of unclear about that. But he was at their wedding.”

Azula laughed, a short, dry, exasperated laugh. “Zuzu, please tell me you aren’t really this stupid. He was trying to tell you he’s single now. Go-to-your-ex-girlfriend’s-wedding single. What else did he say?”

Zuko tried to think. “He told me the names of all the plants.”

“Boring. I don’t care. What else?”

“He asked me if I was seeing anyone,” Zuko remembered suddenly. 

“And you said no, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Zuko said, but was hurt somehow. Why was Azula so sure? For all she knew, Zuko could have plenty of lovers. 

Didn’t matter.

Azula said, and it was drawn out, “Is that it?”

“He held my hand,” Zuko said, voice somehow even quieter, and automatically blushed. “In the elevator.”

“Anything else?”

Zuko couldn’t think of anything else.

Azula sighed, which made Zuko nervous. She waited a while before saying, “Well, it was a pathetic date, but a date nonetheless. I suppose I’m proud of you, brother.”

Zuko frowned and his cheeks burned worse. 

Azula asked, “Did father see you together?”

Zuko’s head immediately snapped to the bathroom door. “Yeah.”

He could hear the static-y whistle of Azula’s breath through her teeth. “Too bad. Guess you won’t be seeing much more of _Sokka_.”

“And your day was more interesting, Azula?” Zuko asked, sharpness in his words, as he burned for a different conversation. Something else to think about.

“No it was boring,” she said lightly, already undisturbed by Zuko’s conflict. “I finished lessons way too early and none of the instructors had anything else for me to do. I actually had to sit there and just talk to them. Can you imagine? I know things about their families now.” Zuko could imagine her shuddering. 

“Sounds unbearable,” he said and pulled the phone away from his ear to check the time. 

3:26 AM. 

“Zula, I need to go to bed. It’s been a long day and it’s late here. You know I won’t get to sleep past 6.” He was about to say more when his breath startled at the sudden muffled sound of what was very clearly a soft knock on the door. No, not the door. It wasn’t the bathroom. Not his father. It was the main door. So who, then?

“What?” Azula asked anxiously. 

Zuko’s mind flashed. “Hold on, someone just knocked.”

“Dad?”

“No, I’ll text you later, okay? It’s fine.” Zuko got up, unsteadily, and ended the call with Azula. 

Who the hell would be here at 3:30 in the morning? 

He intended to ask the intruder this immediately. 

But when he made it through the hotel room and opened the door, very suddenly, Zuko was saying, “Shh,” and was rushing forward against a _different_ looking Sokka, pressing one hand to Sokka’s lips as he pushed him back into the hallway. With the other hand, Zuko pulled the door closed behind him, eyes never leaving Sokka in front of him. 

Sokka had changed his hair, Zuko felt caught up in examining it. It looked nice, professional even. Just a simple ponytail, but the sides of his head were shaved short, something Zuko could tell Sokka took a lot of pride in, and it looked distinguished. Apparently, whether the Ocean Spirit genius had messy hair or styled hair, he was still absurdly attractive. 

He looked better rested too; Zuko wondered a little enviously if he’d taken a nap before coming here. 

His lips felt soft against Zuko’s hand.

“What the hell are you doing here at 3:30 in the morning?” Zuko asked in a harsh whisper when the door was sealed firmly shut. 

“I was bored,” Sokka said, also in a whisper, when Zuko dropped his hand. “And I missed you at dinner.” He was smiling. 

“Sokka, it’s three o’clock in the morning.”

Sokka’s smile faltered. “Oh, were you sleeping?”

“No,” Zuko said and made it sound like sleeping was never the plan. 

Sokka’s smile brightened again, grew into a full grin, as he asked, “Wanna sneak into the pool?” The smile grew into a sunbeam when Zuko nodded, noticing for the first time that Sokka was dressed for a swim, loose white tee nearly covering pink and green flowered swim shorts, a pair of hotel towels under one arm. “Need to change?” Sokka asked. 

“No,” Zuko said and felt the back of his neck prickle like Ozai was watching them through the door. He couldn’t risk going back in there. “I’ll just wear this.” At some point during the night, though he couldn’t recall exactly when or if it was even all at once, he had taken off most of his fancy clothes and was now just wearing socks, an undershirt, and a pair of boxers, which nearly reached his knees and basically looked like shorts. “Good?” This was good. Fine, even. 

“Good,” Sokka repeated, but he sounded like his mind was far away. It took a moment before he shook himself with a sudden jerk and quickly, and very stiffly, turned to walk towards the stairwell. “Last one there has to explain what we’re doing to security if we get caught,” he called over his shoulder, seemingly returning to himself, and suddenly they were both sprinting, clawing over each other in the stairwell. Sokka was swinging his free arm, flailing it around with actual force to keep Zuko back. 

Zuko took Sokka’s elbow to the chest with as much dignity as he could, then decided to jump over the stairwell railing, landing below Sokka. 

Sokka yelled out, but Zuko had given himself the only advantage he needed and was already running out the stairwell door and out the side exit to the hotel. 

Sokka was yelling as he burst through the door and ran after Zuko towards the pool. His voice was so breathless that Zuko couldn’t understand a word he was saying. 

Understandably, the pool had been gated, but Zuko leapt forward quickly and scaled it without much effort at all. He laughed at Sokka’s poor effort to do the same. Zuko stood for a moment, his back to the pool and felt the cold sting of the night air against his arms. It was entertaining to watch Sokka’s multiple attempts to jump the gate, but after all, Zuko had a challenge to win. Turning his back to Sokka’s efforts, Zuko threw his dry shirt onto the ground, left his socks by the shirt, and dove into the pool, drowning out the sound of Sokka’s indignant shouts with the rush of water around his head. 

When Zuko surfaced, he said, “Keep being loud. I can’t wait to find out what you’re going to tell security.”

Sokka seemed offended and huffed a breath of air. He made it over the gate then, landing on the ground in a heap. When he drew himself up, his breath was rough and he groaned. Eventually, he roused himself more and walked to the edge of the pool. He flopped down to the lip with a sigh and let his legs hang into the water. 

Zuko swam towards Sokka and stopped a cautious distance away, bobbing silently above water while Sokka smiled at him. 

“How’s the water?” Even though his feet were already in it.

The water was actually quite pleasant. The heaters apparently ran all night. “Frigid. Are you gonna get in or what?”

Sokka tested the water lazily with a finger. In a smooth, casual movement Sokka flicked the poolwater towards Zuko with his finger.

Some of the water landed on Zuko’s cheek and his skin twiched. A moment to recollect and with a shove of his arms, Zuko sent a huge wave of water crashing over Sokka, who flustered with a flail of his arms and a jolt backwards. “You’re crazy,” Sokka shouted and shook his head like a dog, spraying the concrete wet in a halo around him. But he didn’t sound mad. 

“You have to get in now,” Zuko said stiffly. “Unless you want to catch a chill.”

Although he seemed to be resisting it, Sokka’s lips were pulling into a smile and suddenly he was happy again, and Zuko was happy again to see Sokka happy again. Sokka was smiling and Sokka was getting up. And running towards the pool. And taking his shirt off (And now Zuko could see the curves and lines of skin he was sure would taste like sugar). And then Sokka leapt into the water with halfway folded limbs and an unceremonious splash that drenched Zuko’s head and exposed neck. Zuko shook his head playfully and he felt like his thoughts sounded like a broken record. 

When Sokka unfolded himself from the cannonball he’d tried and rose to the surface, Zuko wondered what he was waiting for. 

Zuko thought about what Azula said, about the “clear” signs Sokka was hinting at and how all of this was technically a date. Zuko reminded himself that Azula always lied, but maybe it didn’t matter; Sokka had misjudged his surfacing, or maybe he hadn’t misjudged it at all, because he was so close now to Zuko. Sokka’s head was rising out of the water, droplets of water shining in the chilly moonlight on his flushed cheeks, inches from Zuko’s. Sokka’s breath was like a cloud of steam, heavy against the night air. Zuko trembled. 

Then clenched his jaw. He closed his eyes. 

Then parted his lips. 

Just slightly. 

For a moment he felt the heat of Sokka’s breath inside of his mouth. 

Then he felt the heat of Sokka’s mouth against his own and a jolt ran up through his throat. Zuko’s eyes fluttered open in surprise for a moment, but all he saw was the outside of Sokka’s eyelids, and he couldn’t help as he closed his eyes again and relaxed into the warmth of their kiss. 

Sokka tasted like salt and sweat and crisp summer mornings. There was honey in Sokka’s mouth, molten and fluid, passing onto Zuko’s tongue, heavy and sweet, and down his throat, until it churned in his stomach and pressed him forward, against Sokka’s body. 

When Sokka took his lips away, he said softly, “You taste like cinnamon,” and Zuko felt a rush all over his body. He felt his fingers tighten around Sokka’s shoulders (When had he grabbed Sokka’s shoulders?) and shoved his mouth against Sokka’s for another kiss. 

Their collarbones slid together and their chins bruised as they met. 

Zuko wanted more. He clenched Sokka, thinking he was leaving marks. Did he care he was leaving marks? His mouth tugged at Sokka’s, hot and deep and desperate. 

Sokka’s arms wrapped around Zuko, Zuko felt lightheaded, and he reached a hand up to grasp Zuko’s hair as he sank into the kiss, all fire and teeth. 

Sokka’s hands were firm and steady around Zuko, strong, but careful. 

Where Sokka was touching, Zuko’s skin felt electrified. Or alive with a flurry of tremors. His own hands shook as he pressed them deeper into the same spot on Sokka’s arms. 

Zuko giddily drank in the flavor of Sokka’s kiss. His head felt light and his hands felt absurdly heavy. With each breath, he tugged harder at Sokka’s mouth and each time, when Sokka responded by tightening his grip on Zuko’s hair, Zuko felt even dizzier.

He could barely breathe around the pace, wasn’t sucking up enough oxygen to keep himself fully lucid. 

When they pulled away again, Zuko’s breathing was heavy and erratic. 

Sokka’s right hand travelled from Zuko’s hair to his chin, and Sokka tilted Zuko’s face up. Zuko’s eyelids flickered under the strength of a bright moonbeam as his eyes traced the lines of Sokka’s lips, pink and swollen. Between the soft pants of his breath, Sokka said, “How has it taken us this long to get introduced?”

Zuko’s eyes narrowed more against the light and Sokka laughed slightly. They were still close enough that Zuko could feel the breath of Sokka’s laughter on his cheeks. “Ah I know, don’t tell me, Ozai’s obviously the reason.”

Zuko smiled, but it was weak. “He’s not gonna like this,” he said. 

“Mm,” Sokka said and pressed his lips together, “Fuck him. He doesn’t need to know.”

Zuko hummed a little.

“Wait, he doesn’t already know, does he?” Sokka asked.

Zuko blinked into the absurdity of the question. With building intensity, an alarming thought battered its way through the comfortable fog of his mind, shattering the illusion that this moment, this feeling, would last forever. What if Sokka didn’t trust Zuko? “I didn’t tell him anything, if that’s what you’re asking,” he said and had no idea what Sokka was thinking, though he wished he did. Was Sokka afraid that Zuko would betray him somehow to Ozai? “He still saw us together. He can draw his own conclusions.” The fog in his mind was rapidly lifting, leaving him sore and feeling particularly naked. 

Azula always lied. This couldn’t be what Zuko thought it was. Why would it be?

Zuko blushed and lowered into the water until his chin was submerged. He watched Sokka’s face soften, but couldn’t read the expression. Was it hurt? Or anger? 

Concern?

Zuko said around a cough, “For what it’s worth, he didn’t really say anything. Either he doesn’t care or more likely, he just doesn’t know.”

Sokka was starting to say something, but now Zuko didn’t want to know what Sokka was thinking anymore. So he blew a puff of air from his lips and dove backwards into the water, swimming away from Sokka to the wall at the opposite edge of the pool. 

When he reached the wall, Zuko curled the fingers of one hand around the lip and hauled himself to the surface, where he bobbed absently, staring back over the water as he held the edge of the pool. Zuko felt flighty, jumpy. 

He’d never kissed anyone before, at least not like that. Nothing else came close in comparison to the lightning he could still feel even now in his stomach. 

Sokka was coming towards him, smiling, which caught Zuko off guard just enough that he betrayed his jumping nerves and stayed still to hear as Sokka said, “So yeah, it’s fuck Ozai hours, then. This is okay?”

Zuko didn’t know what to say. 

Was this okay? 

Was Sokka actually interested or was that just the sort of kiss that followed a day of expectant build-up, but didn’t end up being anything exciting, or out of the usual, and would just never turn into something more? Should Zuko ask? Sokka was just staring at him, because Zuko hadn’t answered his question (Didn’t matter, he didn’t remember what the question was anyway) and wasn’t going to answer. 

Sokka had stopped a cautious distance from Zuko and while Zuko was afloat in the water with only his head and supporting arm above the surface, Sokka stood. Water dripped from Sokka’s hair to the base of his neck, where it ran lazily over the curve of his collarbone until it met the scoop of his shoulders, pooling just barely in the hollow notches above the clavicle, and trickled down his chest to the cinched waistband of his swim trunks, which Zuko could see a little of, just an inch or so above the water. 

This was stupid, right? 

There was no way someone like _Sokka_ was interested in somebody like _Zuko_. 

Zuko could imagine his father saying that thought aloud.

To break the silence, which was clearly making Sokka uncomfortable, judging by the way he kept running his hands through his hair, breaking up the ponytail, which was already askew from the awkward cannonball earlier, Zuko asked around a cough in his throat, “So weapons, huh?”

Sokka stood still for a second, his fidgeting ominously forgotten. Then he laughed, albeit an awkward laugh, and said, “Uh, yeah. Weapons. That’s what I do. Also what you do, kinda. You know.”  
“Yeah, not really,” Zuko said and shook his hair a little. “I don’t do anything for my father. He doesn’t like my ideas for the company.”

“That’s a shame, I bet you have great ideas.”

“I thought so, too,” Zuko said. His left eye flinched. “But apparently not.” Sokka didn’t respond right away, so Zuko asked, “Was it hard to convince your dad to let you help with Ocean Spirit?”

“Oh yeah, it was horrible. At first he said it was too much responsibility, and then he said it would be boring, and then he said he wasn’t going to let me quit school to actually apply what I’ve learned, yet, and then he said the bureaucracy of it would kill me, and then he circled back to saying it would be too much responsibility and that he didn’t want me to have to deal with all of that so soon.”

“What’d you say?”

Sokka was becoming serious. “I just reminded him that I’m not a kid anymore. I can actually do something about everything now. When mom died, I couldn’t, but now I can help. Even if it waited a few more years, Dad knew I was always gonna end up joining the resistance and figured it was safer if he just let me help him instead of doing something stupid and going out and actually fighting.”

“The war’s basically over.”

“No, it’s really not.”

Zuko let the silence stay for a moment. “What’s the point, though? The war’s just going to end and the Alliance of Nations is going to win. Why not just let it be over already?”

“You don’t know that,” Sokka said sullenly. “They’re not going to win, because they can’t win. That would devastate the entire world.”

“What do you mean?” Zuko asked and suddenly felt like the stupid one. 

Sokka fixed him with a cold stare. “What do you mean, ‘what do you mean’? Don’t you know what’s happening to the world? To the places that refuse to submit completely to the suffocating rule of the Alliance of Idiots?” Zuko had to shake his head. He didn’t know, not really. “They get wiped out, Zuko.” Zuko’s forehead furrowed and he waited for Sokka to continue. He was starting to feel nauseous. Eventually, Sokka said, “The Alliance comes in with guns and bombs and fire and literally burns everything to the ground. Farms, houses, people, it all goes. Even in places that aren’t rebellious, just discontent. Their land is destroyed, their gods desecrated, their tradition stolen from them.” Zuko’s stomach was turning. “People are dying, Zuko. Real people, like my mom. All for the stupid power-hungry weak-egoed Alliance.”

“The Alliance says they’re spreading the one true way. To help people.”

“They’re lying,” Sokka said and it was cold and dry. 

Zuko felt stupid. And guilty. “I’m sorry about your mom,” he offered weakly. It wasn’t enough. “I lost my mom, too.”

Sokka sighed and his head bowed for a moment, before springing back up as he began to trudge through the water towards Zuko. He reached the edge of the pool, near Zuko, who managed to keep himself from moving away, and hauled himself over it, so he could sit with his legs in the water a few feet to Zuko’s left. He looked forward straight ahead, so Zuko did the same. “What happened?” Sokka asked at length. “To your mom.”

Zuko hesitated. “I don’t know,” he said and sighed. “Something to do with my grandfather dying and her issues with him and my father.” He took a soft breath. “I think she killed my grandfather and my father killed her for it.” The words tumbled quietly out of his mouth with his breath, surprising him. He bit back the instinct to immediately tell Sokka to disregard what he’d said. 

“Shit,” Sokka breathed and Zuko heard as Sokka turned to face him. He looked up to confirm and felt his skin prickle as Sokka studied him with his eyes. “Would he do that? Would she?”

“I don’t know, probably not. That’s probably not what happened,” Zuko said, so weakly, and resisted the urge to slump his head. “No one ever told me what actually happened. I just know that my grandfather was going to make my uncle the CEO of Phoenix Corp. when he died. But my father wanted to be CEO and even after Iroh’s son was killed in the war, Azulon still was going to make him CEO instead of Ozai. I think he just didn’t want Ozai’s son around the company, he told father to get rid of me so he’d know loss just like Iroh. But nothing happened. And then all of a sudden, Grandfather was dead and my mother was dead and Ozai was CEO.”

Sokka seemed to struggle with what to say. “What about your uncle? Didn’t he say anything?”

Zuko shrugged, glad not to be answering a different question. “He didn’t care, I guess. He just wanted to be done. After everything with his son, he just wanted to be left alone, I think. He stopped coming by for family dinners or talking to any of us really. Sometimes I get letters from him and he says he wishes we could visit.” Why was he telling Sokka all of this? He blushed, wishing he could somehow filter the words before they came out of his mouth. 

“Why can’t you visit?”

“I don’t know,” Zuko said, then admitted, “I think he’s on your side. Helping the rebels. But it’s dangerous to be like that. He just wants me to stay here where it’s safe, with my father.”

“Are you actually safe with your father?” Sokka asked and the scarred skin around Zuko’s left eye itched. 

Zuko thought about whether or not he was safe with Ozai, but there was a numb, icy pit filling his stomach and he decided he didn’t want to think about his father’s treatment at all. “You shouldn’t sell your company to my father.” He blinked. Why had he said that? Shit.

“Why not?” Sokka seemed surprised. “I mean, I know. I wasn’t going to. But why not?”

Well, it was too late, now. “He’ll promise anything. He won’t actually do it.” Zuko met Sokka’s eyes, sky and ocean blue. “He’ll just take everything you love, mass produce it, and use it to massacre the people you’re trying to protect. Doesn’t matter what he says. I’ve seen him rip up contracts the minute that he’s finished a deal. Toss them into the fire while he laughs with his lawyers.”

“Ozai’s really the jerkiest, huh?” Sokka said and there was laughter behind his words again. 

“Jerkiest?” Zuko repeated and there was laughter in the taunt. 

“Whatever,” Sokka said, the hint of a blush painting his cheeks. “You know what I mean. He’s the worst. I couldn’t handle it if my dad was like that.”

“Is Hakoda good to you, then?” Zuko asked and impulsively decided to pull himself out of the water to sit like Sokka on the edge of the pool. The air bit against his body as the water released him, forcing goosebumps and a red blush to the surface of his skin. His teeth chattered a little before he bit down and looked expectantly at Sokka. 

Sokka blinked back, but his eyes darted for a second from Zuko’s face to Zuko’s chest and widened to a stare. Zuko looked down instantly, cheeks burning, and realized that Sokka was looking at the evidence Ozai’d left behind. Sokka glanced up quickly, but the damage was done. It didn’t matter what he’d seen; it could’ve been the scars across Zuko’s shoulders, or the purple swath over his ribcage of a healing bruise, or the cigarette burns up and down his arms (Ozai only ever smoked when he wanted to burn someone with a cigarette), or anything else. Whatever Sokka had seen, he’d seen enough to make Zuko feel exposed. 

Zuko was about to jump back into the water when he felt Sokka’s hand on his right shoulder, and hesitated. 

Sokka felt the hesitation and squeezed his arm around Zuko, wrapping his hand over Zuko’s shoulder. Sokka slid a little closer and said, “Hakoda’s good. Actually, he’s really nice. I think he’d like you.”

The warmth on Zuko’s back was nice. “You and him are the only people that smiled at me today.” Sokka pulled Zuko closer and with a sudden flutter of his heartbeat, Zuko felt Sokka’s lips on his temple. Through the kiss, he could feel Sokka shaking. “I think you did a little more than smile at me,” Zuko said. 

Sokka pulled away just a little, enough that Zuko could feel Sokka’s breath on his forehead, as he said, “Yeah, I think I did. Was that okay?”

“Did you want to do it?”

Another cloud of Sokka’s breath. “Yeah.”

“Then, yeah, it was fine.”

Another. “Fine?”

Gods, did Sokka even realize what he was doing to Zuko? A row of goosebumps forced their way to the surface of the back of Zuko’s neck as the humidity of Sokka’s breath condensated on his forehead. A prickle seized Zuko’s skin, from the base of his skull, all the way down to his shoulder blades, which arched together under the strain of Zuko’s tensing muscles. He couldn’t pull away from Sokka though. “Fine, good, it was great. Why? What was it for you?” He couldn’t help the accusation in his tone, though he felt open and soft. 

Sokka leaned back to speak, sparing Zuko the run of electricity down his back that would’ve followed another puff of Sokka’s breath. “It’s what I’ve been waiting for ever since I saw you standing over there with my dad.”

“And it lived up to expectations and all?”

“Not yet,” Sokka said and looked at Zuko, round eyes suddenly serious. “Unless you mean this is over for you, but like I’m not trying to be a dick about it or anything.”

“Is it?”

“Why are you acting like I’m in charge or something? How am I supposed to know what you want from me?”

“How am I supposed to know what you want from me?” Zuko couldn’t help the volume of his words. He felt defensive. 

“I want you. Whatever you want that to mean. Is that what you need to hear? I’m into you, Zuko. I want this to go somewhere.”

“Go where?”

Sokka laughed, a frustrated sound, but there was a genuine humor somewhere in there as well. “Wherever you want. I was thinking back to my room, maybe. Get a shower, once we’re done here.”

“Are you sure?” Why couldn’t he just believe Sokka? Why was Azula’s voice (A pathetic date, oh Zuzu) ringing in his ears? She hadn’t even confirmed his fears. 

Sokka sighed, but there was humor in that as well. “Listen, just tell me what I have to say to get you to kiss me again.” Zuko felt Sokka’s fingers run from around his right shoulder to his left, which Sokka cupped with his palm and pushed back, forcing Zuko’s torso to turn towards him. 

“That?” Zuko said as his heartbeat rushed and something flipped in his lower belly. 

Sokka responded with a laugh, his grip steadying on Zuko’s left shoulder, and Zuko closed his eyes as Sokka pulled him closer. 

His heart stopped and started again with a jolt as Sokka’s lips met his own, firm and determined. 

Zuko’s mouth closed around Sokka’s with a soft sigh, losing his thoughts to the heat and salt that was Sokka. Zuko explored the warmth of Sokka’s mouth, tracing the outline of Sokka’s lips with his tongue. He drank their flavor gratefully, encouraged by the way Sokka was gripping him, pressing down hard with his fingers, like he was afraid Zuko would slip away if he wasn’t held tight enough.

**Author's Note:**

> welp I can't figure out how to make this post as 1 of 2 chapters instead of a completed work, but as soon as I figure that one out, I'll be back with chapter 2 y'all


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